


its a beautiful day to save lives

by braveatheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, but i love both of these sets of characters and wanted to see what i could do with them, im not even sure what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braveatheart/pseuds/braveatheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Talk to me, Little Griffin."</p><p>"I can't stop seeing him, Calliope."</p><p>OR</p><p>The 100/Grey's Anatomy. Clarke is struggling with the memory of a patient she lost, and Callie is there to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its a beautiful day to save lives

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what this is, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

Clarke Griffin wakes at 3:30 on a Wednesday morning to the sound of three sharp raps on the on-call room door. 

Before she or the woman lying next to her can react, the offending doctor outside barges through the wooden barrier with no warning. The harsh creak of the hinges makes Clarke cringe as consciousness returns to her.

“A case that requires both of your help is on its way, nap time’s over,” Arizona explains in one hurried breath, panting. Her tired eyes and unruly blonde ponytail show that she's had little to no sleep tonight. 

“For us,” Clarke says, pulling herself out of her partner’s grasp. When the cool air of the room hits her decently exposed skin, a small shiver runs down her spine.

Arizona raises an eyebrow, her panting ceasing for a moment in confusion. She leans on the doorframe for support. 

“Once Lazy here gets out of bed, you're going to bed,” Clarke clarifies, gesturing with mild annoyance to the person still hardly moving beneath the blankets. The offensive term catches Lexa’s ear, however, and she pulls herself upward. The blanket hangs over her half naked frame, but it hardly covers her toned body. 

“There was no sex in that bed, right?” Arizona asks, concerned, as she looks between Clarke and Lexa. 

“Not yet.”

Clarke grins when she hears the familiar teasing voice coming from just out of her view. She’d know her best friend’s voice anywhere, and her suspicions are confirmed when Arizona seems to melt into two dark, mystery arms slowly wrapping around her. 

An exhausted looking Callie Torres steps into view behind Arizona, who’s practically falling asleep in her wife’s arms. Callie sends a grateful glance to Clarke from behind Arizona’s head, and Clarke smiles sleepily in return. None of them seem to be at all bothered by the distinct lack of clothing on Clarke and Lexa’s bodies, save for their underwear and bras.

Callie and Arizona step into the room and close the door as Clarke reaches to the end of the bed, where her scrubs are in a disorderly pile. She only bothers to toss Lexa’s scrubs backwards in hopes that the slightly older woman will catch them, eliciting what sounds like a hushed thanks in return. They pull on their scrubs and smooth them out as much as possible, hardly bothering with their hair. Lexa’s is still in braids, and Clarke figures that she can get away with calling her hairstyle at the moment ‘wavy’ instead of ‘bedhead.’

No sooner are they dressed before Arizona flops down in the center of the bed, not even bothering with the covers, and closes her eyes. There’s no room left for Callie, and the brunette rolls her eyes at the sight. She pushes Arizona over, muttering “scooch” and “move” in a way that one might see as harsh. But, Clarke notices with a grin, that’s just how they operate. (She giggles to herself at the accidental pun as she and Lexa leave the room).

There’s not really time for speaking as they race to the ER, their instinctive doctor’s urgency kicking in as the tiredness slowly begins to wear off. Clarke dodges her way around interns and nurses standing in the hallways, muttering apologies as she knocks a few of them around. She doesn’t bother looking backward to see if Lexa is behind her; the woman is one of the most well known and intimidating employees in the hospital, and people will move.

When they reach the ER, Alex Karev is standing over what appears to be a young boy with a gunshot wound to his chest. Clarke can see the bullet’s entrance immediately, as the boy’s chest is bleeding profusely (thankfully, on the right side and not the left.) Still, a bullet wound there means his lung is compromised, and the thought threatens to send Clarke into panic mode. As a gentle hand lands on her shoulder, lingering only for a second before Lexa races forward to put her cardio knowledge to use, Clarke reminds herself to be calm and collected to be the best doctor she can be. (As a doctor suffering from an anxiety disorder, she’s repeated this mantra to herself every time she feels even the slightest prick of anxiety in the hospital.)

“How long has he been here?” Lexa asks, behind down to examine the wound. She reaches for packing gauze and begins to apply pressure to the bullet hole, wincing as the little boy groans in response. Clarke rushes up to his side and drowns out the bustle around her, grabbing his chart for a moment to gather a bit of information.

“Hey there, Dustin,” she says quietly, hovering slightly over him so that most of what he sees is her face. She speaks with as quiet as a tone as she can, raising her voice only enough to be heard over the rapid directions of Lexa, Alex, and the others around her. 

Dustin rasps for a moment, trying to speak, but Clarke shushes him. His eyes clench shut in pain as Lexa continues to do quick damage control.

“Roll him on his side, I need to see if the bullet went all the way through,” Lexa orders, and everyone but Clarke prepares themselves to push Dustin onto his side. Clarke sighs, knowing full well that this is going to hurt like hell.

She grabs Dustin’s hand, which trembles in her grasp, and looks him in the eye. His shaggy blonde hair falls in front of his face, matted to his forehead with sweat, and he breathes shallow breaths as he waits for what’s about to happen.

“You just look at me and keep holding my hand, okay?” Clarke urges, and Dustin huffs and winces in response. He grips Clarke’s hand tighter as hands press to his back, and Clarke nods once at Lexa. 

They roll him onto his side, and Dustin’s mouth falls open in an attempted scream. All that comes out is a harsh gurgling sound that makes Clarke want to hurl. Her eyes water as Dustin begins to cry, his beautifully bright eyes filling to the brim with tears.

“It’s still in him. We need to get to the OR now!” Lexa urges, always the level-headed and logical one between the two of them when it comes to stressful situations like this one. Though Clarke is every bit as good a surgeon as her girlfriend, Lexa possesses an ability to lead that Clarke never has.

As they rush to the OR, Clarke doesn’t let go of Dustin’s hand. He grips as tightly as he can, but the blood loss is making him weak. It takes all Clarke has to let go of him when they have to go scrub in before his surgery. 

\--

Clarke stands by Dustin’s side the entire time, doctors moving about around her yelling for various tools and shouting commands. Lexa moves swiftly around her, apologizing every time they bumped into each other even though Clarke was the one in the way. As chivalrous as her girlfriend’s actions were, Clarke couldn’t focus on anything other than the little boy on the operating table with a bullet in his chest.

Hours later, the operation finishes successfully. The bullet is removed, and Dustin is taken to a private room to recover.

Lexa has other patients to tend to, so she rushes out of the room rather quickly, still sparing time for a kiss to Clarke’s cheek before she leaves. The other nurses head out as well, seeming to know that the only one permitted to stay in the room is the pediatric surgeon that’s glaring at anyone who tries to stick around.

One daring individual stays behind just a moment longer, and Clarke’s glare does nothing to him.

“He’s okay, Clarke,” Alex assures, his hand wrapped around the doorframe as he prepares to leave. 

Clarke gives him the best smile she can offer, and he doesn’t seem to ask for more. He simply holds her gaze for a moment longer and nods, then heads off to presumably his other patients.

Once he has gone, Clarke pulls up a chair from the corner of the room and places it next to Dustin’s bed. She sinks into the cushioned seat and slumps backward, her usually straightened back crumpling in the comfortable chair. Her head is supported by the arm she’s leaned on the armrest. With heavy eyes, Clarke watches the steady rise and fall of Dustin’s chest.

She knows it can be dangerous to get so emotionally attached and invested in patients, especially this quickly and easily. It can wreck a doctor to use so much emotional energy on patients, leave them bare and broken. But, a wise neurosurgeon whom she misses every day once told her that if she doesn’t feel for her patients, she isn’t cut out for this line of work. 

Clarke keeps this in mind as she listens tearfully to the sound of Dustin’s heart monitor, the bandage over his chest visible just beneath his gown. The sight makes the blonde’s heart only ache more.

“You should sleep.”

The familiar voices draws Clarke from her trance, causing her to jump. Her eyes snap up to the doorway of the room. Through blurry vision, she sees not one but two familiar faces staring in at her with the same sympathetic expression. Motherly concern fills their eyes.

“Callie and Arizona took my room,” Clarke offers feebly, knowing full well that it’s a terrible excuse. There’s at least twenty on-call rooms in the hospital, and certainly there’s one that’s available. She knows that Abby and Meredith see right through her excuse as they give that same half smile and walk toward her.

They stand on either side of Clarke, each placing a strong and comforting hand on either shoulder. She’s used to this by now; Meredith had long since taken on the mother role with Abby since the day Clarke was first assigned to her service. The usually tough and easily cross woman took a liking to her that, to this day, none of the other residents or attendings understand. Clarke can’t complain, though. She needs the extra guidance sometimes.

“Lexa saved him,” she whispers, her voice gravelly and quiet. “Gunshot to the chest.”

“I heard,” Meredith replies, her thumb running across Clarke’s shoulder. “The worst part of it all is that it was his best friend who shot him. They found a gun that was supposed to be locked up and it accidentally went off.”

Clarke gasps, feeling her eyes beginning to water anew. 

“How’s the other boy?” she asks.

“He’ll be okay,” Abby replies quietly. “You should have seen Amelia. She was great with him.”

Clarke smiles despite the ache in her heart as she looks at the tube hanging from Dustin’s mouth. 

“Told you guys she’s a softy,” she says, willing her voice to be at least slightly upbeat. Though she can’t see her mothers, she swears she can feel them both smiling that same sad, knowing smile down at her from behind her. 

“She is,” Meredith reveres. It’s been a long road for them, especially since Derek’s death, but there’s no doubt that Meredith loves her sister-in-law like she’s family. She is family. 

There’s a few moments of silence between the three of them. Clarke wills her eyes to stop watering, and eventually, they do. She slows her breaths, her eyes shut as she listens to the oddly comforting mechanical beep of Dustin’s monitor. There isn’t even so much as an irregular blip in the sound. It’s steady and strong, and the sound reminds Clarke that he’s okay.

When she opens her eyes, she glances up at the clock hanging above the doorframe. It reads 7:42 in the morning. She hadn’t even realized how long Dustin’s surgery had taken. Standing there next to him, staring at his eerily still face, had felt like both an eternity and a millisecond all at once. The tiredness in her eyes seems so much more prominent now that she has finally managed to calm herself down. She can feel the ache in her sleep deprived muscles, the strain on her bloodshot eyes, the heaviness in all of her limbs. Exhaustion creeps into every part of her being, and she swears she could fall asleep in the chair she’s sitting in.

This must be obvious, for the two hands on her shoulders move beneath her arms and pull her upward into a standing position.

“But -”

“Bed,” Meredith and Abby bark in unison. Their voices are stern and commanding, but somehow still gentle. Clarke realizes very quickly that going to bed is not an option anymore. She sighs, squeezes Dustin’s hand once more, and walks out of the room.

She doesn’t even realize where her tired legs are taking her until she’s closing the door to the on-call room behind her, the darkness save for the sunlight streaming in feeling extremely welcoming. 

Through that darkness, a mass of blonde hair peeks out from the sky blue sheets on the bed, limbs stretching and mouth wide open in a silent yawn. The brunette in the bed next to her doesn’t stir, and Clarke finds it in her to smile.

“The brunettes really are the lazy ones,” Arizona teases tiredly. She slumps back against the pillows gently, the corners of her lips pulled slightly upward in amusement as her eyes fall shut again. “What time is it?”

“Basically eight,” Clarke replies. Her voice is scratchy with exhaustion, and still somewhat emotional. She hopes that Arizona won’t notice.

Of course, it doesn’t get past her. Arizona notices everything.

“I’m going to go check on my patients,” she says softly, pulling herself into a sitting position on the bed. She reaches for her shoes, fumbling with the laces for a moment as she pulls them on. “When you’re ready, come tell me what happened?”

Clarke nods gratefully at her friend, thankful that she understands. 

Arizona simply nods and heads toward the door, and Clarke moves out of the way. The older blonde leaves the room quietly, but not before giving Clarke’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Clarke squeezes back as tightly as she can, trying to show with her actions what she can’t with her words, and Arizona heads off to check on her patients.

When the door closes once again, Clarke turns back to the now half empty bed. 

She’s surprised to find her best friend actually awake. Her long brunette hair falls over her face in unruly waves, surely knotted to hell by the looks of it. She’s propped up on one elbow, the palm of her hand squishing her cheek upward. Her eyes are barely open, her lips pushed outward into almost a pout, and the sight actually gets Clarke to smile again.

Callie smiles back as best as she can for having just woken up, and she takes in a deep breath. When she lets it out, she pats the empty space in the bed next to her where Arizona was laying moments ago.

“Talk to me, Little Griffin,” she says, her voice rough and deep from sleep.

Clarke doesn’t reply. Instead, she kicks off her shoes and lets them thud onto the floor as she climbs into the bed. She tries to lay on her back, but Callie is having none of it. The brunette scoops her best friend into her arms and holds her tightly, rubbing those comforting circles in the small of Clarke’s back as she’s learned to. 

Clarke sighs, knowing that she can’t fight Callie’s comfort. She leans her head forward into the crook of Callie’s neck tiredly, feeling her eyes beginning to sting once again.

“I can’t stop seeing him, Calliope,” Clarke whispers. The use of Callie’s full name only comes out at the most emotional of moments, and Clarke feels Callie’s arms tighten on instinct at the sound.

“What happened today?” the older brunette asks quietly. 

Clarke takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Images of the morning’s events and the worst day of her life play through her mind faster than she can keep up with them, and it’s making her head spin. Callie quietly shushes her, seeming to understand what was happening in the blonde’s mind. 

“GSW to the chest. Seven years old. Blonde hair,” Clarke explains. Her breath hitches. “It even fell in front of his face the same way.”

Callie sighs and releases her grip just slightly. She pulls backward so that she can meet Clarke’s eyes, and the gentle gaze makes Clarke’s heart twist even more so. The images of that day are coming back full force now, and the familiar tightness in her chest is creeping in. Callie’s talking before Clarke even realizes she’s starting to breathe shallowly.

“Facts, Clarke,” Callie urges softly, holding her gaze more intently. Clarke’s lips quiver as they attempt to form words, but the panic is starting to take over. Callie doesn’t budge. She simply waits. They know this routine.

“I’m a resident at Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. I’m a pediatric surgeon. Lexa’s a cardio surgeon. You’re ortho, and Arizona is a fetal surgeon,” Clarke recites. Each statement brings her focus back to clarity bit by bit. She babbles out a few more facts, the first ones that come to her mind. By the time she’s done, her focus is nearly one hundred percent back, and her breathing has steadied. Callie gives a small, proud smile and lets her gaze ease up. 

There’s a beat of silence as Clarke gathers her thoughts.

“How do you stop seeing them? The ones you lose?” she asks, her voice breaking on her last words. Her eyes well up, but she doesn’t bother stopping them. She knows better with Callie.

Callie sighs, her smile faltering. A certain sadness flashes in front of her eyes, and Clarke doesn’t have to ask why. She’s lost patients too, some hitting harder than others. One particular case is surely the memory that just flashed through her mind, and Clarke finds herself squeezing Callie’s arm gently in comfort.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to see Aden’s face until your last breath,” Callie replies honestly, shifting her position. They’re both propped up on one elbow now, facing each other in the small on-call room bed. 

Clarke sighs. She knew the answer before she even asked the question, but she’ll probably ask the question a million more times. If one year hasn’t been long enough, she doesn’t imagine that any number of years will be long enough to forget his face.

“I’ve got good news that might cheer you up,” Callie offers, the corners of her mouth pulling upward in a smile. Clarke raises an eyebrow, curious, and simply waits in silence for Callie’s news.

“Sofia asked last night if sus tias would come over for dinner tonight,” the brunette says. Clarke practically melts at the words, the tightness in her chest almost immediately dissipating. Her thoughts are taken from Aden and brought to her goddaughter. Despite the tears still lingering in her eyes, an involuntary grin breaks out on Clarke’s face.

“I don’t think Lexa would complain,” she replies, her voice still hoarse and gravelly. “I think she loves your daughter more than she loves me.”

Callie snorts, pulling herself up into a sitting position. Clarke follows suit, both of them throwing their legs over the edge of the bed as they reach for their shoes. Though they have a few moments of peace here, their pagers are sure to go off at any moment, and they’ve both got rounds to do.

“Well then, Dr. Griffin,” Callie begins, standing once her shoes are pulled on, “I’ll probably see you later today, and we’ll have dinner at the apartment at...say, eight?”

Clarke grins and nods at her best friend, finally getting her foot into her stubborn right shoe. She winces as her fingers get caught between her foot and her shoe, but ignores the sting as she too stands. It’s nearing eight twenty now, and they’ve got no time to waste.

As if on cue, the pager around Clarke’s belt goes off, followed by Callie’s. She chuckles at Bailey’s reminder for morning rounds. The chief sure was serious about rounds being on time.

They step out into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind them, and Clarke takes a deep breath. Callie gives one final reassuring squeeze to her hand before they part, each heading in their own directions for the day. Clarke starts toward the desk to pick up her charts.

Despite the slight ache still in her heart, an old motto pops into her head. The words bring a smile to her face as she strolls down the hallway, memories of a fantastic neurosurgeon popping into her mind.

It’s a beautiful day to save lives.

**Author's Note:**

> If I have the time, I might write more with these characters together. I might try having the Grey's team in The 100 universe as well, I'm not sure. Let me know what you think of this and that idea, feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
